Bakura vs Furball
by Borath
Summary: Bakura gets a hamster. It turns into WAR. Rated for exessive swearing on Bakura's part. Much Bakurabashing here so beware. He has a v.low IQ in this fic...
1. War

Stupid and insane.  Bakura is an idiot in this fic.  Warnings for swearing and violence.

Bakura vs. Furball 

I have been particularly horrific to Ryou lately and, as my soul has strangely developed that cancerous-thing called a conscious, I wish to apologise to a degree by means of a gift.  I have a deficiency with getting the word 'sorry' out of my mouth so acting rather than saying is needed to relay the sentiment.

I just need to figure out what to steal for him now, because there is no way in hell that I am paying for anything, even if the money is stolen.  It would feel unnatural and wrong.  Ryou's birthday is in two days so I will be killing two birds with one stone.  Hmm.  I like that saying.  Perhaps I could steal two male birds and watch them fight to the death before actually getting a real present.  Oh, pets!

Hikari-twerp likes animals so a pet is the perfect idea.  Right.  I will get a pet and present it to Ryou then I can return to my terrorizing-cycle guilt-free.  Yes.  Good plan.

I ponder what pet would be suitable as walk to pet shop.  I need something small enough that I can steal easily and pleasant-looking enough to avoid rejection.  Ryou wouldn't dare say he didn't like my gift unless he had a death wish but I wish to do this right so will ensure a certain degree of loveliness in the pet.  Urgh.  Foul word.  Feel dirty.  I'm going to have to scrub myself when get home now damnit.

I'm at the pet shop now and feeling a little overwhelmed.  The whole place smells horrible and there are children running around screaming in an uncomfortably hyperactive manner.  I wish to hide but I won't as I am a badass and they will fear me when they get to know me.  I step on a few kids as I walk through their midst to get the point that I am *evil* across.

Animals on the right hand side of the store are too big to hide so I will have to get something small.  Ah!  I have found tanks of creepy things that look cool; little lizards or similar.  They all have flat feet and are attached to the glass with fat little tongues.

I can see pale green one that would be considered cute if I were able to successfully gauge such a thing so I have decided to get that one.  A quick glance around confirms that I am alone in the aisle.  The horrible florescent lighting is making my eyes and head hurt so this will not be accomplished with my usual finesse, but I will grab the animal all the same.  

I have pried open the top of the tank and stuck my hand inside.  Lizards can apparently move faster than I had previously anticipated but I refuse to be beaten.  I have grabbed the pale green lizard now.  Damnit!  The little shit spun around and has now sunk its' minute teeth deep into finger.  My blood is leaking into the tank and spilling over the sawdust.  I strongly wish to decapitate, drown or burn the lizard.

Lizard effectively attached to my finger so none of those options are feasible at the moment.  I extract my hand from the tank, with the lizard attached, as wiggling my hand about from the wrist doesn't work to disengage its' jaws.  Instead, I snap my entire arm out very violently and watch with satisfaction as the lizard flies across the width of the aisle before hitting the opposite shelf, landing on floor and skittering under the displays.  

The little sod took a bit of my flesh away with him so I am inclined to think that an animal without teeth would be better for Ryou.  Glancing around again as I try to stem the blood-flow and get myself to stop cursing in Egyptian as it is pointless, I see some really nifty floating animals.

Getting closer to see how such a trick is accomplished, I forget about my missing finger-part as I walk.  The little creatures come in a variety of shapes, sizes and colours and all look tame and toothless.  I have decided that I like them and want one.  There is a tank full of fat, orangey-gold colour ones so I will get one of those.   

The tops to these glass tanks are easier to remove but I have found the contents to be wet and cold.  I roll up my sleeve, as it is getting clingy, and then shove my hand inside.  These animals move faster than the lizards so I have to trap one against the glass and then drag it up towards myself.  The animal jumps in my hand, which is amusing, but does not blink which is creepy.  

Shrugging at the lack of blinking, I shove the wet, squishy animal into my trouser pocket and walk out.  The creature squirms in my pocket as I walk and it feels weird so I take it out as I get outside.  The animal doesn't jump anymore; it writhes now.  It stops entirely as I stare at it and I feel pleased that I have taught it a trick already.  I have found an animal that both jumps and plays dead.

Hmm.  Animal has not moved for a little while now.  Might be dead.  Smells funny.  It's dead then.  Damn it!

Returned to pet shop and I am now staring at multiple animals with a thundering cloud above head and blood on my hands.  I disposed of the remains of the dead animal by presenting to a small child outside as a gift.  I am pleased that hiding the body took so little effort.  Feel proud.  I have not lost my touch over the years.

Hearing a tittering in the vicinity of my knees I look down.  I spend a few minutes watching a bunch of little furballs running around in circles and looking stupid as a squeaky wheel seemingly brings them much amusement.  I have decided that I will get a stupid furball and call it Pharaoh.  Heh.  I like that joke.  It is both funny and insulting. 

I have decided to study furballs before attempting to capture one, as there seems to be rules on how to handle each different type of creature.  Right.  The big fat furball picks up the little furballs by some loose skin on the backs of their necks and carries them around before plonking them back down again two inches away from their original position.  

I refuse to handle furballs in my mouth but will carry them using the scruff of their necks as not only does is make a furball go still but it also keeps the snapping mouth with alarmingly large front teeth far away from my hands.  I don't even bother to look around now as my mood has deteriorated to that of axe-murderer so I just reach in and grab a gold furball.  It has a pink nose, tiny pink feet and curls up as I stare at it imposingly.  It fears me.  Good.  I am glad that it has learned early to that do not need to discipline it.

I walk past staring people out of the shop carrying the furball in a similar manner to a bag at my side, holding the soft furry-skin between my thumb and forefinger and swinging my arm a little to keep it amused as I walk.  

I get home in good time but freeze in the doorway when a new thought hits me.  What do I do with the furball now?  Surely it cannot roam around house free; I would stand on it either by accident or when I was pissed off in general.  After a few minutes of thought I decide to put the furball in the bath.  It won't escape and I can put something for it to eat in there so that it won't die like the jumping thing did.

I move into the kitchen and put the furball on the table as I search for something for it to stuff its little face with.  Tell it to 'stay' so it is fine to turn my back on it for a few minutes.  I finally decide on an apple and turn around to present it to the furball only to find that it isn't there anymore.

I glance about the floor around my boots just in time to see a streak of gold flash past me and under the fridge.  Putting the apple on table, I pinch the bridge of my nose as I feel a headache coming on.  Getting onto my hands and knees I feel my pride shrivel and shove my hand under the fridge to get the furball back out.

The little sod bit me!  And it won't let go!  Damnit!  Get it off!  Ow!  

I wrench my hand back out from under fridge and stare in blind rage at the furball hanging from the end of my finger.  It has reopened the lizard wound too so I am most pissed off.

I snap my arm violently to the side to detach it in the same manner as the lizard and then yell wildly when I feel it tighten its' jaws on me rather than letting go.  

Grabbing it with my free hand I squeeze the little body, listening intently for the satisfying snapping sounds that usually accompany this movement.  Tiny claws scratch at my palm but I ignore it.  Its' huge teeth recede from my flesh now and blood welling is from the wound, making it difficult to keep a firm hold on the squirming body.

Its' neck does an 'Exorcist' and I drop it out of surprise when it nips at the finger around it's scrawny little neck.  Watching it land on the floor, I prepare to stamp on it but feel my insides twist horribly when it runs at me.  It just ran up my trouser leg.  Oh Ra it's on my skin and migrating north.  I am really afraid to move now.

Despite the scratchy sensation, the psycho-furball's movements tickle a bit and I squirm to dispel a laugh that would sound alien as it would be neither cruel nor mocking.  The movement makes the furball stop at a very intimate area and I freeze, afraid that it's planning something.

It just bit me.  There is pain so great that I cannot see or think.  

It's a delayed reaction as I scream five seconds after the initial bite and start running around in panicked circles trying to dislodge it.  I grab the frying pan fully intending to beat it to death, bringing it down hard on where the furball is still sat.

The furball just moved back down my trouser leg and I have gained too much momentum to stop the frying pan.  There's an eerie feeling as I watch what is going to be severe pain coming towards me.  It is peculiar but I have no time to speculate as contact is imminent.

Oh holy fuck.

I take a few minutes on my knees to recover from the self-inflicted crippling pain before my eyes narrow to slits and I let loose a feral growl.  I no longer wish to catch the furball to put in the bath as a present for my Hikari-twerp.  I wish to catch the furball so that I can kill it.

I see it scamper into the living room and give chase after grabbing the roll of garden twine off of the counter.  I was bored out of my metaphysical skull in the Ring for the millennia I was trapped there so I taught myself a few tricks to pass the time.  Making and throwing a lasso was one of them.

The furball is sat in the middle of the carpet grooming itself now, probably to rid itself of my blood.  I make my lasso out of the garden twine and set it in motion as I slowly approach the mutant-furball from Hell.

I throw it just as it moves and miss.  Pulling it back I try again.  I caught it!  I snap my hand back but the furball is lighter than I expected and it comes flying at my head.  Ow.  I have lost sight in left eye now and the furball is in hair.  The twine has been chewed off of the furball so drop it, as it is pointless to hold it now that there is my blood and pain to worry about.

Blindly making my way into kitchen, I turn on the taps for the sink, feeling the evil creature scratching against my skin and trying to make a bed out of my hair.  After filling the sink with freezing cold water I dunk my entire head into it.  The water helps to get my blood out of my left eye so when I surface I can see.  The furball is no longer in my hair and I look into the sink in hopes of seeing it floating face down.

I am not so lucky.  The furball is nowhere in sight.  I glance around with my bangs slapping against my face to see it scamper out, bone dry, back into the living room.  I have decided that more tact is necessary to capture the little git before I microwave it.  

I rummage around the cupboards to hunt for the sticky paper that Ryou uses to catch flies.  It is called flypaper but I like my name for it better as it is more appropriate.  I find it and remove a sheet from the packet, which I then carry into the sitting room.

I sit on the sofa and stare at the sticky paper for a few minutes.  Nothing is happening.  I fetch more sticky paper and cover as much area as possible with it until I run out.  I then return to my station on the sofa.  I look next to myself for no real reason and see the furball sat on the cushion beside me staring at me.  It isn't blinking.  Creepy.

Lunging at it, I watch it jump off the sofa and land on the sticky paper.  Unfortunately I follow and end up stuck to several sheets, my face next to the furball and both my hands stuck to the ground.  I stand up and try to bat sticky paper off of face.  The glue has stuck it to my hair so it is not going to be pleasant to remove.

I decide to worry about my hands first as some delicacy is going to be required here.  The furball's face is stuck next to my right eye-socket so it fills half of my vision, but its' ear is stuck to the paper so it cannot bite me.  It can only stare which is oddly worse.

I kneel down and put my boot on the sheet of paper stuck to the palm of my left hand.  I wrench my hand away and then scream in pain.  The sticky paper is now stuck to bottom of boot but it can stay there for all that I care.  Repeating the process for my right hand, I grit my teeth as feel many layers of my skin being removed.

Setting my jaw to tackle the sticky paper stuck to the entire right side of my face, I hold the corners gingerly before taking a deep breath.   I have evidently lost control of my body as my arms refuse to tear away the sticky paper.  I curse myself and try again.  Then I try after counting to three.  I call myself a coward out loud and pull.  I then scream in agony as my hair and skin is removed but the furball is no longer on my face so it was worth it.

I bring my hand up to my raw skin to rub at it and feel like crying when my hand sticks to my face.  I pull my hand away but the movement causes my body to twirl around and I end up on my ass on the floor.  I glance around to see if I have landed on furball because that would really make me feel better.  Unfortunately I missed and it is still staring at me, mocking me.  

I am going to kill it soon.  

I put my other hand on my elbow to tug my hand off of my face.  It works but now my left hand is attached to my right elbow.  It takes several minutes and a ripped shirt to get it back off but I am no longer stuck to any parts of myself now and the furball is secured to the sticky paper so it can't go anywhere whilst I treat my wounds.

I shred the rest of my shirt and wrap my glue-covered hands in the material to prevent further stickiness before dabbing at my bleeding face with the leftover shirt.  I have decided not to kill the furball; I have a far better idea for it.

Fetching a pair of tongs from the kitchen, I pick up the sticky paper with the furball on it by the corner, not taking my eyes off of the Spawn of Satan in case it tries something.  I carry it outside totally ignoring the funny looks from the people in the street.  I am able to ignore them because I have vowed myself their deaths by my sticky hands when I catch up with them as punishment for staring.  

I finally reach my destination after a few minutes and set the sticky paper on the floor.  I use the tongs to peel the furball off of the sticky paper, thoroughly enjoying the squeaks of pain it emits.  Opening the letterbox, I thrust the furball inside with the tongs and listen to it hit the carpet and scurry away.

Stuffing the tongs back into my pocket, I decide to check back in a few hours to see how many injures the Pharaoh gets from the little bastard.


	2. Revenge of Furball

I wasn't going to write a sequel but boyfriend insisted so whatever he wants he usually gets.  This chapter is shorter and more battle-orientated with death and destruction.  And swearing.  Bakura is still an idiot in this fic so go away if you like him.

Bakura vs. Furball 2: Revenge of Furball

Not three hours after dropping the Satan-spawned mutant furball at the Game Shop was I interrupted in treating my wounds by the doorbell.  I swear, if it's Ryou I *will* kill him.   Nice to my Hikari my arse.  It's *is* fault I have layers of skin missing from my hands and face.

I open the door and blink a second before recognition hits.  It's the Pharaoh, only now he's sporting the 'two-black eyes and a swollen jaw' style.  His hands have been turned into mittens or summut because the bandages are so thick.

I take it back.  They're not mittens; they're boxing gloves, emphasised by the way he just put the left one into my already abused face.  I let him have his one shot before socking him back and leaving him dazed as I close the door in his face.

I've had a bad day.  I can't be bothered to deal with the fern-head.

Rubbing at my eye a little surprised that the shrimp had that much strength in his scrawny body, I only catch the movement into the kitchen out of the corner of my good eye.  It was small, golden and furry.  

The fucking bastard gave it back.  I don't think I can take this.

Snarling, I storm after the creature and follow it into the kitchen.  Nothing.  Not a trace.  Well, I don't suppose I can hope against hope that it's drowned itself or been killed by a rat in here, so I'm going to have to look for it.

There's a fizzling sound and a squeak before the best thing all day passes my eyes.  It's the furball, but it's now singed and airborne as it whizzes past my face and lands in a smouldering heap against the fridge door.  

I'm so happy I could cry.

Obviously it bit a wire and electrocuted itself, poor titbit.  Might have to rip its satanic head off to put it out of its misery now.  Ah well.

Approaching it slowly, because it's a crafty sod and this could be the first step in its master plan to kill me and take over the house, I tentatively pluck it off the ground using my thumb and forefingers around its scruff, lifting it away from my body and holding it at eye-level.

Glancing around the room after glaring at it with a victorious smirk, I spot a certain appliance and get a better idea.  I did threaten to microwave it earlier after all.  No sense in contradicting myself.

As if it can sense its doom, the furball starts writhing in my fingers albeit in a daze, gnashing its long teeth at my fingers in vein.  But I have learned too much now for that to be able to work.  I have become wise in the ways of furball treatment and now I take my spoils for my title as victor of this battle.

Flinging open the door of the microwave, I chuck it inside and slam the door shut again good and quick so the little shit doesn't have the chance to get out.  

It stares at me from inside and tries to pull the cute act by washing its blackened face with its paws.  

Not gonna work.  You're had this coming and now I'm going to sit back and watch with satisfaction while you explode.

Holding my finger a few inches ahead of the button to build up a healthy level of terror in the furball, I give it a final blood-curdling laugh before I jab it.

Ow!  Damnit-shit it burns!  Ow, skin…  Independent is of body in tingliness.

It's mocking me.  I swear.  Sitting on my arse three foot from the microwave, I slap at my face a few times to get the feeling back and carefully avoid looking at my finger.  Stupid archaic microwave.  

It's watching me, laughing in its little furball mind.  

Obviously it chewed through the wire that would have ordinarily prevented me from getting electrocuted by the stone-age contraption and it knew it.  I *knew* it was planning all of this!  

In a fit of rage I lunge at the microwave-prison and heft it up off the counter, fully intending to throw it across the room, which probably was *not* such a good idea.  Damn.  I didn't know it was *this* heavy.

Toppling over backwards, I land awkwardly with the microwave on my chest and the furball sitting staring at my through the little window.  

It blinks.  I blink.  Its nose twitches.  I snap entirely.

Reaching to my left, I snap the wooden leg off of the chair through brute force and start hammering on the microwave with it.  Once this wall's out of the way I can get to pasting the furballs' smug little face to the side through the act of beating it.  It scampers around all scared and pathetic.

Excellent.

Finally cracking the casing, I ram the wood lengthways into the microwave and set about trying to stab the creature.  The angle's a bit awkward, particularly as the weight of the bloody thing is still on my chest, so I pull the stick back out and shove the microwave off sideways before kneeling next to it.

Bruised a rib or two there but war always has casualties.  I'll live, unlike the furball.

Looming over the busted microwave, I turn it around on the spot so that the window is facing me. The hole is in the top and I want to see my target rather than jabbing blindly through the gap.  

Only I can't see my target.  It's gone.

Sitting back and dropping my weapon, I lean sideways to get a better look inside only to come to the same conclusion.  Hmm.

I wonder if there was another electro-thingie inside that it touched making it, I dunno, *vaporise*.  Ra I hope so.  Damnit it I wanted to watch it suffer!

Sitting up in a huff, I practically crap myself when I feel something land between my shoulder blades and scurry up to my neck.  And then under my shirt.

Oh Ra get it *out*!  Damnit-shit-buggery-fuck *no*!

In panic, I leap to my feet and scramble around as I try to get my hands at it as it slides and claws along my back.  Bloody gravity!  *Not* the belt-line.  *Not* the belt-line. 

Oh bugger it's in my trousers.  Huh.  Psycho-furball is also a pervert.  Note my surprise at this new revelation.

Not daring to breath or move, I just stand there with my arms up behind my back and my legs bent at odd angles, feeling with an impending sense of doom as the thing scuttles down the back of my left thigh.  At least it's going  *down* and not *up*.

And the little shit just read my thoughts and did a U-turn.  I can't win.

Deciding to perform a pre-emptive strike *before* I resort to near-castration, I carefully lean to the side whilst keeping the leg it's moving up as still as possible.  Curling my fingers around the chair-leg, I pick it up and hold it above my thigh a few inches ahead of the furball.

Ra hates me.  He must do.  What did I do to deserve this?  Even *I* don't deserve this abuse.

Taking a deep breath, holding it and closing my eyes so as not to see this, I wait until the furball is in the precise spot before slamming the stick down hard.

Ow.  *And* I *missed*!

I swear this thing is telepathic or something because it is *no* ordinary furball, that's for sure.

To say that I hit my own leg hard would be an understatement as the chair-leg has now been reduced to two chair-legs and some splinters.  Urgh, that's gonna bruise.  

But at least the furball isn't under my clothes any more.  In fact, my scream seems to have scared it out of the kitchen altogether.

Limping into the living room, I decide to just follow the faint black mark running along the cream carpet rather than looking for it this time.  Seeing that it's hidden itself away under the sofa, I hobble over to it and pick up one of the *big* lamps on my way.  The cord pulls out of the wall with a 'snap' as I walk and drags behind me on the floor as I surge forward, Hell-bent on beating it to death.

Unfortunately the cord gets trapped on something and the lamp stops moving whilst I *don't*.  On my face again, I spy the furball staring at me unblinkingly from the inky depths that is the underside of the sofa.  

It's mocking me again.

It's immediate existence is saved by the doorbell, and quite fancying a game of 'clobber the visitor' I get up to answer it.  Huh.  Only my Hikari-twerp.  

Big doe eyes stare up at me and he walks around me with some measure of fear.  I guess my eyes are glowing again, or possibly the Ring.

Turning on the spot to keep my burning gaze on his cowering one, I see the furball make a run for it over his shoulder.  It's open and defenceless.  It isn't expecting an attack right now so I'd get it.

"Bakura?  What's the ma-hey!"

Ryou is quite light for his age but heavy enough to squash a furball I suppose…  I won!  I bloody *won*!  Oh.  I'm so happy I don't know what to do now.  The battle is over…  And I won!!

Doing my victory dance, I don't notice that Ryou has walked over to me holding the smushed remains of the furball until he whines.

"Aw Bakura!  I landed on-I'm so sorry!  I'll get a new one for you, I *promise*."

Hmm.  I wonder if he'll fit in the microwave.  Or the sink perhaps.  With the taps on.  With duct-tape holding his head down beneath the surface of the water.  At least now I don't feel so guilty for the last few days.  

Hang on… They were *working* together against me!  They *planned* this!  Ryou would *never* stand up against me so he *planted* the psycho-furball in the shop and somehow brainwashed me without me knowing it to steal that *exact* one.  A blood conspiracy!  I knew it.

No.  I'm just paranoid.  I think that microwave frazzled my brains.  Or the furball just fucked up my head with its scheming ways.  Still.  I *won*.

So *ha*.

End.

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